


The Savior

by gorgeoussimplehousecat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Everyone has a happy ending, F/M, Fluffy stydia, Mentions of Suicide, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeoussimplehousecat/pseuds/gorgeoussimplehousecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia was 3 weeks pack-less. Each day she felt less and less like someone she’d recognize. She wandered the halls at school purposeless. More than once had she caught herself googling “What is the meaning of life?” (Google did not know).</p>
<p>Or: Lydia abandons her role as banshee because she has doubts as to her importance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Savior

 

Lydia Martin did not let her life revolve around the supernatural.

Okay, well, maybe she did.

But Lydia Martin did not _want_ her life to revolve around the supernatural.

Though it seemed every week, the pack was battling some new, foreign, _evil_ entity with ungodly strength or invisibility or giant lobster claws for hands (okay, Lydia made that one up), Lydia did not want her life to be only about the supernatural.

Don’t get her wrong, Lydia got it. Only so many people in this world knew about the supernormal stuff, and only a small percentage of those people could actually fight it, when the situation arose.

But did that mean that Lydia was doomed to a life filled with only wolves and kitsune’s and berserkers and blood-curdling screams? That hardly seemed fair. There were so many other things Lydia wanted out of life; so many goals and dreams that would now be pushed aside.

Lydia remembered a time when she would stay up late, studying three chapters ahead in her chemistry book and painting her nails, or spend her weekends trying out different crockpot recipes she found on pinterest.

Now? Now Lydia stayed up late to peruse supernatural message boards (maybe there were other places like Beacon Hills? Other people who could help them? Surely they weren’t alone?), and spent her weekends IM’ing Deaton with questions about something she had read in some ancient mythical book she had ordered off of Amazon (Whenever Deaton didn’t have answers, a tiny part of Lydia squeezed in on itself, but Lydia pushed it down because it was okay, there were _always_ puzzles that couldn’t be solved in this line of work, right?)

Lydia was in love once, you know, B.W. (Before Werewolves), with a boy who was rude and frankly had a few too many scales for her liking. But since her actuation into the darker side of Beacon Hills, the idea of being in love was the most tiring, far-fetched thing Lydia could think of.  Even if there was a possibility, a lingering fluttering in her heart at the sight of a lanky boy with the most delightful expressions she’d ever seen (those _eyebrows_ ), who looked at her like she was one end of the universe and the other, and every galaxy in between—even if there _was_ such a boy, there were just too many factors, too many lives that needed saving, to indulge on such childhood fantasies as love and happily ever after.

Lydia knew that she was a banshee, but she was also a teenage _girl_ , a soon-to-be undergrad student, a someday career woman, and a hopeful mother.

And so, the idea that she must banshee-her-life-away, lately, made Lydia so inwardly furious, and honestly, a bit resentful.

She knew she was lucky to not live a life of ignorance like the vast majority of the universe was when it came to all things superhuman or otherworldly. Knowledge is power; you didn't have to convince Lydia of that.

And please don’t get her wrong, she was not unacquainted with the fact that without her being born into this life she would not have made the amazing, _incredible_ friends that she had, the friends she knew she could not live without, the friends that you would have to physically pry out of her cold, dead hands to take away from her.

But Lydia could not get over the fact that she never _asked_ for this life. Nobody consulted her, nobody questioned her over whether or not she could dedicate her entire being to saving other people, so much so that she often forgot to take care of herself—lately, she had been forgetting to shower, _shower_ of all things, and had taken to keeping a can of dry shampoo in her purse for those moments when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror at school and could not recognize her own reflection. Nobody wondered if she was up for popping three Ricolas a day to soothe her aching throat from screeches that left ghosts of themselves long after they were gone; Lydia could not remember the last time she was able to sing along to a song in the car without wincing from those lasting effects. No one checked in with her to see if it was fine to watch the friends she loved so much come so near to Death himself over and over and over again, when just years ago she had never even known what it was like to love anyone this much.

Nobody asked her if she was ready to lose herself.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Lydia hadn’t slept in three days.

Between fighting off the pack’s newest Big Bad, to researching colleges in the allotted 50 mile radius the pack agreed on so as to make it easier on everyone when the need arose for them to come together to Save the Day, to trading in her beautiful Smurf (the name she gave to her precious little blue car that her daddy bought her on her 16th birthday) for an SUV ten years older and worth half as much, because the pack could no longer viably get around in Stiles' dilapidated jeep, Lydia simply had not found time to rest her eyes.

Truth be told, Lydia was so used to running on empty that she had not even realized that she hadn’t so much as napped since Saturday night until Stiles of all people pointed out that she maybe didn’t look her usual best.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lydia snapped. Even as she said it, Lydia knew her emotions should not have been directed at Stiles. Her sleep-deprived brain could not communicate that to her mouth, unfortunately.  

“Whoa, sorry,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “I just noticed that this entire week you haven’t worn any lipstick, that’s all.”

Of course he noticed, this stupid boy who noticed everything about her. What she wouldn’t give for him to not notice her for one day. Give her one day where she wouldn’t have to put up this happy façade and pretend that her life was so perfect and she wouldn’t change a thing. Banshee Lydia is truly the most exhausting Lydia that she could be.

Yes, he was right, she realized. She gently rubbed her lips together and confirmed that they were chapped, little dead pieces of skin still halfway attached were hanging off. When was the last time Lydia had even applied lip balm, let alone lipstick? At the very least, she always managed to apply some chapstick before bed—

Oh. That’s right.

Lydia could not quite explain what happened next, and could only say that her exhaustion-riddled mind was obviously not thinking clearly.

“I’m finished here,” Lydia calmly said, staring up into those eyes that visited her in her dreams.

Stiles scrunched his eyebrows together. “Finished with school? But it’s only second period. I mean, I can cover for you with coach if you want, bring your homework to you after school. Are you sure you’re feeling alright? The Lydia Martin I know would never—“

The Lydia Martin he knew? She didn’t even know what Lydia Martin she was.

“No, Stiles,” she said, interrupting, placing one cool hand out in front of her as if to put a wall between them. “I’m finished with the pack, with saving the world every day, with all of it. Do the rest on your own. Consider the banshee removed.”

Lydia did an about-face, walking away from a very stunned Stiles.

 

 

Lydia didn’t know what she doing, truly. The second she walked away from Stiles, from her _pack_ , she felt an invisible rubber band tied between them, trying to snap her back.

Obviously, Stiles had told the pack that something was up with Lydia, that _she was just having an off day, give her space_ , because for the rest of the day, her friends merely smiled at her in passing, and didn’t try to bother her in the least.

Oh, she loved them. She loved them all so much. The guilt from abandoning them, if only for a few hours, weighed on her heavily. After school on her drive home, she resigned herself to speak to all of them the next day and apologize for her unacceptable behavior.

But then something strange happened. When Lydia walked in her front door, her mother was sitting there on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Looking fresh out of a bath, wearing her purple pajamas and fuzzy slippers, she asked, “Lydia, honey, do you want to watch a movie with me?”

Lydia realized that for the first time in a long time, she could actually say yes and indulge her mother in this. Sticking a romantic comedy in the DVD player for a night in with her own mother? What a completely normal thing to do.

Lydia had been craving normal.

After the movie, Lydia put a cleansing mask on her face and some whitening strips on her teeth (when was the last time she had done that?) and made the most beautiful math notes her eyes had ever seen. Miraculously, Lydia got 8 hours of sleep that night.

When she walked into school the next morning, Lydia knew that there was no way she could go back to the way her life had been (fighting and screaming and crying and desperation). She wished she could so badly, for her friends’ sake. But she knew that the world had its best people fighting for it. She would not be missed, ultimately.

So when Stiles walked up to her at her locker with that lop-sided smile of his, she knew she could not give him the fresh start he wanted. Wouldn’t life be so much easier if Lydia could just give everyone what they wanted?

Stiles, who knew every part of her the way a writer knew his words, could read the _Sorry_ in her eyes.

Lydia, who simply woke up one day being able to understand him better than any theorem she had ever encountered, could see the hurt she caused him in the one, lone breath he let out.

_You’re doing the right thing._

Soldier on.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Something wasn’t quite right.

Well, don’t ask Lydia, she certainly didn't know what it was.

Over the last 7 days, Lydia felt both lighter and heavier. Something tremendous had been lifted off her shoulders since she had abandoned her banshee post, while something weighing approximately 2 tons simultaneously landed on her chest.

 On top of that, Lydia was sure she had never been so bored in her entire life. She read and read and calculated and calculated and nothing was ever _enough_. She started teaching herself to read lips, thinking she needed a hobby. Nothing worked. Every single thing was mundane and totally un-inspirational.

Lydia tried not to read into these things, though. She was grateful for her newfound normalcy. She no longer missed classes. In fact, on Monday, Lydia looked on silently as Malia leaned over to Scott in government class, showing him something on her phone--a text, Lydia thought--followed by the two abruptly grabbing their book bags and leaving class.

_Well_ , Lydia thought, _now they’ll never know who the original Supreme Court justices were. Now I can at least focus._

(Don’t ask Lydia who the original Supreme Court justices were; she didn't know.)

Boy, did she miss her friends, though. Lydia understood that she couldn’t have her cake and eat it too. She couldn’t remove herself from fighting by their sides, but still sit by their sides at lunch. Life, unfortunately, was not quite that fair. So Lydia ate a banana in the library during that time, tearing through the biography section. (She still didn’t know what Lydia Martin she was. She hoped to find inspiration in the lives of others.)

The weekend after Lydia made the decision to abandon all supernatural ships, they started showing up at her house. First were Kira and Malia, arriving at her door Saturday night with Cosmo magazines and rocky road.

Lydia’s heart had swelled at the sight of them standing on her front porch as she swung open the door that night. Lydia loved these ladies dearly, a fact no person could possibly deny. No one, however, was blind to the fact that Lydia had always kept the two at a distance farther than she did Scott or Stiles. Her heart gave them as much warmth as it could spare, one can be sure, which wasn't their fault, by any means. She hoped everyone understood (and she thought they did) that she could never let another girl so close to her. Lydia, every day, felt blessed beyond all realms of space and time that she once held the privilege of having Allison Argent as her best friend. That kind of miracle was not easily replaced.

They stayed over for an hour, Kira talking to her about school and Malia talking to her about her latest improvements in driving (“If I’m not the first person at the stop sign, I have to _wait_ , Lydia! Why would I be driving if I didn’t have places I needed to be? Who made these rules?”).

All good things must come to an end.

“So, are you done finding yourself?” Malia asked, interrupting Kira’s story about how much of a spazz she was (“I walked into the men's restroom for the _third_ time this semester. And twice I didn't even notice where I was until I was already washing my hands!")

“Excuse me?” Lydia asked, not missing the pointed look Kira shot the coyote.

“Well,” Malia said, ignoring Kira’s blatant disagreement with what was happening. “Stiles said you needed time to go find yourself. Whatever that means. So have you figured it all out yet? Have we given you enough time?”

Lydia tolerantly rolled her tongue over her top row of teeth before responding. “I don’t need time, you guys.” She did, but time was not a luxury. “I know exactly who I am.” No, she didn’t.

Lydia stood up, brushing invisible crumbs off of her skirt. “What time is it, anyway? Do you think you guys should be heading out soon?” Please don’t go.

The next day, they sent Scott around lunchtime. Lydia heard his motorcycle pulling up outside her house through her bedroom window, and considered for a moment to have her mother tell him that she wasn’t home. It sometimes took her a second to remember that he was an alpha werewolf, and there was no hiding from him.

They sat at her kitchen table, staring at each other.

“So,” Scott started. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Lydia nodded, raising an eyebrow. Get to the point, McCall.

He started again. “Lydia, if you need help, if you’re feeling lost, the pack can help you. You don’t have to be alone.”

Damn them for sending Scott. Lydia knew that one of the top five fiercest emotions she’d ever felt was her loyalty to Scott McCall. She knew it radiated off of her in waves when she was with the pack. She knew they could smell it on her, Scott and Liam and Malia. It wasn't something she was even slightly embarrassed of (who in the world would blame her?), but it was definitely not something she’d like used against her.

No, Scott. Lydia could not drag down an entire pack of people who saved lives on a daily basis because Lydia thought she may or may not be heading down the wrong life path. Scott was wrong.

Lydia felt guilty for even thinking it.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” she said, instead of the complicated thoughts in her head.

“Lydia,” Scott said. “I don’t understand. What about all the people you’ve helped? Think of all the people who need you.”

A sardonic smile crawled across Lydia’s face. “If I really thought the world would be less off without me around to save it, I’d never have left you guys.” She didn’t bare teeth or wield a katana or even kick a little ass. She could warn people about danger, and sure, she may have been good with words. But anyone could do that. It didn’t take a Lydia Martin. At least her former pack members were passionate about saving the world. If the world was given a choice to have people fighting for it that actually _wanted_ to be fighting for it, or someone like Lydia Martin who felt forced into this, taking every day to go through the motions of acting like the selfless heroine she knew she wasn’t, who would it choose? If Lydia Martin stopped defending this planet from evildoers, the world would ultimately remain the same. Lydia knew this.

“Scott,” Lydia said. “You know that if there was anyone who could convince me to come back, it would be you.” She stated this as a fact, as if they’d ever discussed her undying trust in the alpha before.

Scott’s shoulders drooped, but he grabbed her hand across the table. “There will always be a spot for you, Lydia.”

Stiles did not come over to her house like the others, and Lydia thought she knew why. Stiles, of all pack members, knew her best, but he didn't know what was going on in her head currently (How could he when she didn’t even know what was going on in there herself?). What would Stiles be able to say to her? What advice could he offer her, when the problem was incommunicable?

 

 

Lydia was 3 weeks pack-less. Each day she felt less and less like someone she’d recognize. She wandered the halls at school purposeless. More than once had she caught herself googling “ _What is the meaning of life?_ ” (Google did not know).

Lydia did not like not knowing things, like what Lydia Martin she was. On this day in her AP English class, Lydia made a list: “Things I Know to Be True”. It turned out like this.

 

  1. Her name was Lydia Martin.
  2. She had a genius level IQ.
  3. She was a banshee.
  4. Her best friend was Allison Argent.
  5. She liked to



Lydia paused in her writings because she did not know how to continue. What did she even like to do? She had no hobbies, no extra curriculars.

Lydia snapped to attention as her English teacher scolded her for tapping her pencil relentlessly against her desk.

Well, excuse Lydia if her life was a hot mess right now and she couldn't concentrate. Hamlet may not  have known who he could trust, but Lydia didn't even know what she was meant to do on this Earth anymore, so maybe everyone could stop focusing on Hamlet's problems for a minute, hmm?

Lydia didn’t realize she was tapping her pencil again until she heard, “Lydia. I’ve asked you to stop with your pencil. Do I really need to ask you again?”

Lydia smiled a cheeky smile at her teacher. “Let me put you out of your misery,” she said, gathering her things. The class watched as Lydia sashayed past their teacher right out the classroom door.

Lydia walked aimlessly through the empty hallway, listening to the click clack of her heels against the floor. She felt slightly bad about leaving class early, but reconciled it by acknowledging that she’d read Hamlet twice by the time she was fifteen years old anyway.

Lydia walked and walked and walked and when she looked up she was in the boy’s locker room (she swore she didn’t come here on purpose) and she was not alone.

 Stiles was sitting on a bench; Lydia noticed that he looked sad within the first two seconds that she saw him. “Lydia,” he breathed out when he sees her.

“Stiles,” she said back. The name had not come out of her mouth in several weeks, and it tasted sweet on her tongue.

“Taking a fourth period trip to the boy’s locker room?” he teased her. Lydia bit her lip to keep from smiling too hard. It wasn't that good of a joke, both her and Stiles knew, but having him look at her for the first time in too long had her giddy.

Lydia chose to simply shrug in response. “What are you doing here?” Lydia asked, suddenly realizing that Stiles had been sitting alone in the boy’s locker room before she showed up.

Lydia watched intently as Stiles ran his long fingers through his hair. To her credit, Lydia has always tried to be inconspicuous when it came to appreciating the sight of Stiles, but she hadn’t had him sitting in front of her in weeks, and she currently had no control over the way her eyes drank in every part of him.

“I just,” he sighed in reply. “I just needed to think.”

Lydia nodded, pressing her lips together very hard to keep from verbally responding. If this were a different time, a different Stiles and a different Lydia, she would’ve sat at Stiles’ feet and told him to talk it through with her. They were always able to figure things out much faster together.

But this was not a different time. This was not Lydia’s Stiles, and she was not a Lydia he could deem to know any longer. So she stayed silent.

He didn’t even call her on not answering his question. It’s so un-like Stiles that Lydia couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew what she was doing in the boy’s locker room (that she was escaping a classroom of people who expected too much from her. Lydia had lost too much of herself to have much left to give.) (That she really _didn’t_ know how she ended up in the boy’s locker room, and a tiny voice in the back of Lydia’s mind said, _You know you’ve always been drawn to this boy_.). The very idea made Lydia flush all over.

Stiles coughed and rose from the bench he’d been sitting on. “Well, I’ve been brooding here long enough. I’ll let you have the room.” He looked at her as he passed her by, patting her on the shoulder in a cordial way. Lydia knew that she must’ve hurt him, abandoning him these last few weeks, but Stiles still managed to show her the kindness in his eyes. What a pleasure it was, having this boy care about her.

Lydia was suddenly so alarmed at the idea of him walking out of that room, at him leaving. She swung around to see him facing away from her, his hand on the door.

“Can you tell me something about myself?” Lydia blurted out.

Stiles’ hand froze on the doorknob.

Lydia knew that if she was worried that she’d lost sight of herself, asking someone else would probably not send her in the right direction of it. Only Lydia had truly tried everything, and the face in the mirror looked no more familiar than it did three weeks ago. So, desperate times, and all that.

Stiles didn’t act confused, and didn’t look at her like she just asked him to tell her the circumference of Jupiter, or the Fall trends listed in this month’s issue of _Vogue_. The look he gave her was expressionless, as if he had been waiting 21 days for Lydia to ask him that exact question, and was not in the least bit thrown for a loop.

He said, staring at her in such a way that Lydia felt naked, “Your name is Lydia Martin.”

Lydia knew that much, of course. But she breathed out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, the tension in her body leaving with it. After going through different times in her life thinking that she was slowly losing her mind, Stiles not looking at her like she’s crazy meant quite close to everything to her.

( _Besides_ , that tiny voice in her head said, _Isn’t that the first thing you wrote on_ your _list?_ )

Stiles continued. “You are 5’3”. You have green eyes.”

“No,” Lydia interrupted him. “Tell me—“ Lydia paused for a millisecond to gulp loudly, “Tell me something about _me_.” At the last word, which came out as a desperate cry that she certainly hadn’t intended, Lydia splayed her hand across the middle of her chest as if to say, _In here, do you know her_?

Stiles’ eyes softened. He’d let go of the doorknob, and was now leaning casually against the locker room door. “Well,” he said, staring at the floor, and Lydia could tell that he was going through the _Lydia Martin_ folder in his mind. “You have a dog named Prada that you love very much.”

Lydia sank down onto the same bench Stiles had been occupying moments before. She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed out. “Yes, that’s true.”

Her eyes still closed, she felt Stiles take a seat next to her.

“How about this,” he said. “Instead of me telling you things about yourself, how about I ask you questions about yourself and you answer them?”

Lydia had opened her eyes by then, and bit her lip. “What if I don’t have the answers?” she whispered.

Stiles smiled at her. “That’s alright too. Asking questions is just going to get us started down the right road.”

Lydia was of course unsure of this, but Stiles was the one who always had a plan, and she vowed long ago that she’d never doubt him when it came to plans. She nodded her go-ahead to him.

Stiles relaxed his body, seeming very casual to Lydia. If he was doing this on purpose to ease her worries, Lydia couldn’t help but think that it was working, at least a little bit. “Okay,” he said. “What is your favorite subject in school?”

“Math,” she answered easily. She felt herself relaxing a bit too.

“Nice,” Stiles said, even though she knew that he knew the answer. “Why?”

Lydia was ready to answer the question with the usual suspects—she’s excellent at it, she’s fascinated by it—but she realized as she opened her mouth that that is _not_ what she was about to say. She clamped her lips together so fast they made a smacking noise.

Lydia brought her eyebrows together with a grimace. “Pass. Next question.” She said.

If Stiles was taken aback by this, he didn’t show it. “Favorite color?”

“Red,” Lydia said, because it’s true, red was her most favorite color.

“Why?” Stiles asked, the question Lydia knew was coming but was dreading anyway. His tone in that one word seemed to say, _It’s alright, you can do it._

Lydia, at this point, was becoming a little panicked. She was coming to certain realizations about herself, and although answers are what she was looking for, these realizations were doing little to soothe her notion that she lost herself somewhere along the way.

She wrung her hands together and said, “Uh, pass.”

Stiles nodded slowly, then said, “Favorite food?”

Her hands were pulling more frantically at each other. “Pass,” she practically gasped out. Oh, no, she couldn’t answer _that_ one. That answer was way more obvious.

Stiles put his hand on her wrist to still her movements. “I don’t think we should pass, actually.” His voice was soft and stern at the same time.

Lydia shook her head. “I think this was a mistake, actually. Bad plan, Stiles.” She hated saying it, but they both knew she didn’t mean it anyway.

“Sometimes we have to do things that don’t feel good. But I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that would hurt you Lydia, you know that.” He was speaking so softly, words that were meant just for her. His face was close to hers, and she breathed in every part of those two sentences. Sometimes, she thought that if she could breathe in enough of him, it would just heal her.

But this time Lydia breathed in and nothing felt better. She was still thoroughly uneased, and it was growing stronger by the second. She stood abruptly. “No, Stiles,” she said loudly. She knew she must've sounded like such a child.

“Lydia,” Stiles said firmly, coaxingly. He was standing now too. “Come on, answer the question. What is your favorite food?”

Lydia’s hands were in tight fists and she let out a feral scream of frustration. Then, “It’s Kira’s dad’s lasagna, okay?”

Lydia was so angry; she could feel it coursing through every inch of her veins. It only multiplied when Stiles quirked a small smile at her, like he was trying not to laugh.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” he said.

“I’m not finished!” she yelled. “It’s my favorite food because we have it every other Thursday at her house for our bi-weekly pack meetings. Half the time, we don’t even talk about supernatural stuff, we just hang out. My favorite food _used_ to be peanut butter, did you know that? And now it’s lasagna.” Lydia let out a laugh that sounded a little bit on the side of hysterical. “Isn’t that just the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

Stiles did not respond at all. Lydia figured it’s because he valued his life.

“Do you know why my favorite color is red?” She pointed a shaking finger at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head imperceptibly, but Lydia didn’t wait for him. “Thanks to _you_ , I now realize that it’s my favorite because it’s the color of Scott’s eyes. His true alpha eyes.”

Stiles’ mouth had formed a small “o”, and Lydia wasn’t sure if it’s because of her answer or because of the crazy look in her eyes. Also, Lydia didn’t care.

“Furthermore,” Lydia continued, still yelling very loudly, “Math is now my favorite subject because that is always the subject you all need notes on. You guys come to me and praise me and borrow my notes, and I _help_ all of you. That is why I love math now, and that is _bullshit_ , Stiles!”

By this time, Lydia had been pacing back and forth. It was apparent that she wasn't really speaking with Stiles anymore. He let her continue though because it was apparent that Lydia was doing some much-needed venting.

In her pacing, Lydia landed a solid kick at a locker when she made it to one end of the room. “Why can’t I have anything of my own? Nothing about me is _me_ anymore! Everything about me is really about everyone else. That’s not fair. That’s not what I signed up for."

Lydia leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the locker. Her hand raked slowly down its body.

"Stiles, I'm so tired all the time," Her tone was still loud, but it sounded weak to ears that knew her. "I just want to be able to sleep and not worry about missing school, or if Malia is passing History. I remember to e-mail Braeden weekly to keep her updated on us, and to check in on Derek, but I can't remember to wash my hair." Lydia paused, her eyes frantic, not finding purchase on any one object. "Shit, Stiles, I'm falling apart. Falling apart for a world that doesn't even deserve me as its hero."

Lydia was breathing heavily, and Stiles made his way over to her slowly. “Lydia,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “It’s okay, it’s alright."

Lydia whipped around and forcefully pushed his hands off of her. At his interruption, her fervor was renewed. “No, it’s not alright, Stiles! I know the pack is so important, but I'm important too. I deserve to keep parts of me. But instead, I fight monsters all day and lose parts of myself that I didn’t even know were crucial until they were gone. God, I fight monsters practically _every single day_ , and I don’t even get to pick my own favorite color? What kind of life is that?”

“Lyds,” Stiles said, trying to soothe her. “We all fight those monsters together. That’s what we do. It’s what we were born to do.”

“No.” she said, backing away from him slowly. His words had seemed to pull her out of her temporary insanity.

She spoke slowly. “No, Stiles. That is what _you_ were born to do. All of you. You are all good and selfless, and you’re ten times what the world even deserves. But me?” She trailed her eyes over the locker room. She found no answers written on the walls. “I am not some protector of humanity. I’ve never had any choice. I just do what I’m expected to do, and that’s all.”

Stiles looked at her so intently, and she could tell he was trying to figure her out. _Good luck_ , she thought.

“That’s all I ever do,” she finished with a whisper.

 

 

Oh, boy. Lydia was a mess.

After her confrontation with Stiles, Lydia stormed out of the locker room, out of the school, and into her car.

Minutes later, when Lydia was driving down the highway, she caught a peak at her reflection in her car mirror. Everything about her screamed _frenzied_. Her hair going every which way, her eyeliner smeared on the top of her eyelid, a fresh, small cut on her lip from where she had bit down too hard—all these things and more, and Lydia could not care less, because as of late, mirrors had meant close to nothing to her.

Skipping school was not at the top of the list of Things that Brought Lydia Martin Joy, but today it felt okay. She drove to her favorite boutique and bought herself a new pair of sunglasses. She parked in the Dairy Queen parking lot, eating French fries dipped in gravy. Sometime near sundown, she headed home.

Well, she attempted to head there, at least. Four blocks from her house, Lydia realized that she left her school books in her locker. Lydia may have skipped school, but she wouldn’t skip out on her homework too. She quickly made a U-turn, utilizing a random driveway.

When Lydia reached Beacon Hills High, _of course_ the doors were locked. Lydia circled around the school, checking each door along the way.

Lydia had made it to the back of the school, quite ready to give up, when she heard something.

Lydia thought that somebody must be there, at the school, but as she looked around her, she could see no one. _It sounded like somebody crying_ , Lydia thought. Unfortunately, hearing strange sounds that seem to have no origin was not an unheard of occurrence in Lydia’s life.

Lydia continued her search along the outside school walls, before she heard the same sound again. It sounded like it had come from somewhere _above_ her.

She looked up. There, standing on the ledge of the Beacon Hills gym a ways to the left of her was a girl Lydia vaguely knew from art class. Penny.

_Shit_ , Lydia thought. _Shit, shit, shit_.

 It’s apparent from Lydia’s vantage point that Penny had mascara running down her cheeks, and Lydia made an educated guess that she wasn't standing up there for the view.

If Lydia had been prepared, she wouldn’t have left her purse, along with her phone, in her car. She could’ve called for help. Lydia’s lips thinned at her own impatience with herself. Looked like Lydia was on her own.

So far, Penny hadn’t seemed to spot her, for which Lydia was grateful. Not wanting to spook her, Lydia kept as silent as she could.

Lydia knew she needed to think of something, and fast. She knew she couldn’t get into the school, she’d already tried. If she could, she’d access the roof from the inside.

_Okay_ , Lydia thought. _Plan B_. For a second, Lydia had a pang of missing Stiles. He’s the one who was so excellent at Plan B’s.

A second later, the pang was gone, because Lydia had more important matters at hand.

A few yards away from where she was standing, Lydia noticed the window that lead to the Chemistry room supply closet. Lydia quietly jogged over to it, grasping the bars that covered it with a smirk. The school couldn’t afford security for one of the most dangerous high schools in California, but they could afford to keep their expensive chemicals safe. For now, Lydia decided not to feel bitter about it.

Lydia took no time in kicking off her heels, and then hopping onto the very thin ledge of the first floor window. Grasping with her hands, she could tell that there was a possible foothold lining the top of the same window she was standing on. Lydia used the wide bars to shimmy her way up, her bare toes gripping in a way that she’s sure was reminiscent of a primate. Nearing the top of the window, Lydia stretched her body and reached out to grab the ledge of the second story window above this one. As Lydia began to pull herself up, she let out a small yelp. Her dress had caught on a rusty nail on one of the bars, down near the hem. Quickly without thinking, she reached down with one hand and ripped her dress out, causing a significant tear. Lydia didn’t pause and kept climbing.

Pulling herself up, Lydia was now standing on top of the barred window, still holding on to the second story window’s ledge. Glancing around at her options, Lydia thought that maybe she should’ve taken time to consider the logistics of her plan to get to the roof before she was ten feet in the air.

About six feet away from her, where the building became an inward right angle, was a drainage pipe. It’s old and needed to be replaced, if the way it was rusted away in the middle, and missing its bottom half was any indication.

If Lydia could just get to that drainage pipe, she knew she’d be able to climb it to the second story roof. From there, she could make a running jump onto the slightly higher gym roof. Then she could help Penny.

Spying a single, protruding brick a few feet from the window, she concocted a desperate plan. Once Lydia had her plan, she didn’t think it over, didn’t try to find the ways it could possibly (probably) fail. There was no time.

Lydia swiveled carefully around on the balls of her feet so that her back was to the building wall. In one swift movement, Lydia stepped out onto the brick with her closest leg, using it to give her the momentum she needed to leap onto the drainage pipe. A second later she’s flying through the air. Lydia felt time slow down for that moment when she’s groundless. Her mind was clear, and Lydia could be thinking of any number of things, but all that went through her brain was _Penny. Help Penny. Penny needs help. Penny. Penny. Penny._

That, and, _oh, my god, I made it_.

Well, kind of.

Lydia’s hands reached out and grabbed on desperately to the metal connectors on either side of the storm gutter that attached it to the walls of the building. Unfortunately, Lydia’s leap of faith didn’t send her high enough, and most of her body was hanging where the bottom half of the gutter should've been.

A bead of sweat trickled south on Lydia’s face and down her neck. _Okay, Lydia_ , _you can do this. If you fall and break your neck, no one here is getting any help tonight._ Slowly, carefully, Lydia placed her feet on either walls of the building.

Inch by inch, Lydia’s feet walked up the sides of the building until they were level with her hands. Now came the hard part.

Lydia only had one chance to get this right. Leaning as far back as she could, her butt against the building, Lydia propelled herself up, pushing off with her legs and pulling herself with her arms all at once. She didn’t fly far, but far enough that Lydia could grab onto the next set of metal connectors.

From there, climbing up the rest of the building was relatively easy. Lydia idly wondered if climbing wasn’t what gutters were made for.

When she reached the top, Lydia pulled herself over the ledge and rolled onto the cement roof. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see if Penny was still on top of the gym, but Lydia was sure that she was. She would know, wouldn't she?

Last step. Lydia shakily stood up and walked to the end of this two story building, the edge closest to the gym. Looking down over it, Lydia could see the locked cage that held various equipment for the maintenance workers. This gap between the buildings--not too long, maybe five feet across--was due to poor planning when Beacon Hills High added an extension over a decade ago.

Looking across the gap to the gym building. Lydia estimated the gym to be only a few feet taller than her own building.

_I can do this. I have to get to Penny_.

Squaring her shoulders, Lydia turned around and calmly walked to the opposite end of the building.

She stood still for a moment and closed her eyes. If Lydia gave herself time to acknowledge it, she’d realize that she was scared out of her mind.

But there wasn’t time. There was only this. Her and Penny.

And flying.

Lydia took off, sprinting the length of the roof, her bare feet scraping across the cement. She leapt.

She didn’t make it onto the roof, of course. Lydia wasn’t a wizard. But she managed to land her hands on the gym’s roof and that was enough.

Using arm strength Lydia was not even aware of, she pulled her body up the side of the wall, and when she finally made it, she found herself crawling a ways before she could find the energy to get up. Note to self: do more cardio.

When she managed to stand, Lydia looked up and saw a very confused girl staring at her.

“L-lydia?” Penny asked.

“Penny, I’m here for you.” Lydia said, gasping for breath.

Penny looked somewhere behind Lydia. “How did you get up here?”

Still not breathing properly, Lydia made a non-descript gesture to the side of the building.

Lydia realized something. “Wait, how did _you_ get up here?”

Penny shrugged her shoulders. “Ladder.” And pointed to a section of the building that Lydia hadn’t come across yet in her search for an open door.

Lydia bent over, hands on her knees. “Oh, my god. _Whatever_.”

The lanky brunette girl pointed at Lydia. “Uh, Lydia? You’re bleeding.”

Looking down, Lydia realized that, yes, Penny was right. Various abrasions littered Lydia’s legs and arms. Her knees in particular were scraped up beyond recognition, and there were two long cuts on Lydia's palms, she assumed from where she'd grabbed at the metal of the drainage pipe too tightly.

“Yeah, well,” Lydia said, being a bit fresh. “I didn’t dress in my proper free-climbing clothes.” Then, softer. “I’ll be okay. What about you? Are you…okay?”

Lydia wished she was somebody else, in that moment. A counselor or a psychologist or just somebody who had experience talking to people with mental illnesses. Somebody who would know what to say, and how to help. Not her, not Lydia Martin who wasn't fit to save the world, or anyone in it.

Penny sighed. “You should just go, Lydia.”

Lydia walked closer to the girl. “No, Penny. I-I’m here. Whatever you need. I’m here.” Lydia held her arms out, using what she’d read about body language to assist her.

Penny looked torn. “Look, Lydia, that’s really nice and all. But I came up here to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be, though.” Lydia interjected quickly. “Alone, that is.”

Penny, who was still near the edge of the building, looked out over it. Quietly, “It doesn’t always feel like that.”

Lydia rushed forward, her words desperate. Lydia didn't know the proper words to say, so she settled on just speaking the truth. “I know what it’s like to feel like there’s no one to talk to. To feel like no one would understand, or care.”

Penny scoffed. “There are bigger problems in the world.”

Lydia mumbled, “Don’t I know it.”

“The way I feel,” Penny went on, still staring out over the lacrosse field. “It can’t be put into words. I’m not even sure I understand it. I just haven’t felt much like myself lately, I guess.”

Lydia nodded, not knowing how to convey to Penny just how much she was preaching to the choir. Having a problem that didn't seem to have a solution could make you feel like you were falling into quicksand.

"Sometimes," Penny said in a soft voice. "I don't think I can keep doing this. Going on day to day, knowing something isn't right."

“Penny,” Lydia started, walking minutely closer. “I wish I had answers for you. I don’t. But what I do have is support. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“I’m so _tired_ , Lydia.” Penny’s voice was strained and thick. Lydia could see her bottom lip quivering.

Lydia made the final steps she needed to get to Penny. Gently, she wrapped her fingers around Penny’s wrist. “I’m so sorry, Penny,” she whispered. “But you are stronger than this. We’ll figure this out, I promise you.” Lydia vowed to herself, right then and there, to do everything in her power to help Penny never feel like this again. No one should have to feel like they were alone, like nothing would get better.

Penny’s eyes met Lydia’s, and tears spilled over. “You really believe that?”

Lydia smiled. “ _Yes_ , Penny, of course.” On the first word, Lydia shook Penny’s wrist, just once, trying to get the faith to flood into Penny’s veins from her own.

As the pain flowed out of Penny in teardrops and sobs, Lydia hugged her tight, breathing out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank god. Penny was safe.

 

 

Later, after Penny and Lydia were finished being assessed by the EMT’s, Penny walked over to sit down next to Lydia on the curb, and Penny bumped her shoulder against hers.

“Hey,” she said. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

Lydia laughed through her nose. “Penny, you don’t need to thank me. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“It’s just,” Penny continued. “For the first time in so long, I feel like there’s hope, you know?”

Lydia nodded, because she did.

“Anyway, Lydia, you probably saved my life today. And knowing that there’s people like you in this world, it just, it makes me feel like I can really do this. Like I can feel okay again.” Penny ended with a lighthearted shrug.

Lydia mashed her lips together the way that she did when the emotions inside her were so strong that they tried bubble up and out of her.

"Here," Lydia said, smoothing out the scrap of paper that was previously crumpled in her hand. "This is my number. You'll probably need some time, but call me, okay? Any time. I mean it. And when you're up to it, I'd love to go get coffee some time."

Penny smiled back at Lydia's matching one, and took the phone number. "Thank you, Lydia. I'd like that."

Before Lydia could respond, a car pulled into the high school’s parking lot and parked crookedly. Immediately, a tall, brunette woman got out. She seemed frantic, eyes scanning the various people milling around in front of the school, until her eyes landed on Penny.

Immediately, she called out to her. “Penny!” and when Penny noticed the woman, she stood. The woman rushed towards her and surrounded her with a smothering hug.

Lydia looked away, not wanting to intrude on the moment. It did not escape Lydia that if things had just gone slightly differently, Penny’s mom would be crying for totally different reasons.

Lydia had wanted to make sure someone was here for Penny before she left, so Lydia decided now would be a fine time to make her escape.

Lydia was almost to her car when she heard it, a screeching sound accompanied by the sound of a too-loud motor. She already knew what it is before she looked up to see Stiles barreling around the corner with Roscoe. In just seconds, he was pulling into the space next her SUV.

Lydia stood there, waiting, as she watched Stiles wrench his door open and rush to get out of the car (Lydia assuredly did _not_ laugh when Stiles was whipped back into the car by the seatbelt he hadn’t yet taken off).

When Stiles made it Lydia, he looked like he wanted to touch her so badly. He surveyed her, seeing the various bandages the paramedics had placed on her superficial wounds. His hands hovered over her arms, but he never made contact with her skin.

“Oh, god, Lydia,” he said. “I heard on the police scanner, I came as soon as I heard. What happened? Are you okay?”

He was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with such relief that she was okay, not at all like Lydia had rudely walked out on him just earlier today when he was just trying to help her.

Lydia wanted Stiles to know how sorry she was, that she knew he was such a pure friend to her, that he didn’t deserve any of her treatment over the last three weeks.

Of course, saying “ _I’m sorry_ ” would be way too simple, and, if she was being truthful, were words Lydia didn't say too often. So Lydia, not answering Stiles, simply walked into his already outstretched arms, and wrapped him in a hug.

He was stunned for a moment, expectedly, but eventually his arms came around her shoulders, laying against her long hair.

_I’m sorry_ , she said by squeezing him tighter.

_It’s okay_ , he said back when his thumb traced circles across her shoulder.

They ended up going for a drive when Lydia handed him the keys to her car. Lydia had always liked driving around with Stiles (she liked it better in her car, where the engine isn’t so loud that couldn’t think straight). For one thing, Lydia found that Stiles plus driving made the best Stiles to sneak peeks at. He might've known that she was looking at his face, but with his focus on the road, he didn't  know that she was tracing his jaw line with her eyes, memorizing it so she had something to think about later when he was gone. He didn’t know that she was counting all the moles on his face and neck. At night, when she couldn’t sleep, she much preferred counting Stiles Beauty Marks to counting sheep.

That being said, there’s this game that Lydia’s been playing (by herself, obviously) for a few years now. Lydia liked to count how many times Stiles looked over at her while he’s driving (not including stop lights and traffic jams, those don’t count) (Lydia has made all sorts of rules for this game that only she knew about). It always made Lydia chuckle, how many times Stiles would look over when she first started riding in his passenger seat. It was only when she eventually ended up in the backseat, with other people riding shotgun that Lydia noticed that he _definitely_ looked over at her more when she was in that spot than when anyone else was. Like, he glanced at her two, three times as many times, easily. This was a pretty fun game for Lydia, because she would calculate the frequency of his glances after the ride was over. His highest so far was (7) glances per minute.

By the time either of them spoke towards the middle of the car ride, Lydia calculated (13) glances per minute, or a glance every 4.6 seconds. She hadn’t even said a word. Impressive.

( _He must have been really worried about you_.)

(For once, Lydia wasn’t that annoyed at the tiny voice in her head.)

Lydia looked out her window. She spoke for the first time, “Penny almost died today, Stiles. She would’ve been _gone_.” Lydia said this as if she could hardly believe it herself.

“But she didn’t die,” Stiles responded firmly. “She is alive and getting help because of you, Lydia.”

Lydia shrugged. “Stiles, I just did what anybody would do.”

Stiles laughed, a loud abrupt one that made Lydia turn her head to glare at him. “Lydia, no, not just anybody would scale a frickin’ two story building to help someone the way you just did.”

Lydia looked down, creasing her eyebrows, because…well, that was true, wasn’t? Lydia could think of a few people off the top of her head that wouldn’t go to that length (none of the people Lydia’s thinking of were in the pack, not that it even needed to be said). They’d probably run back to their car on the other side of the building so they could call for help. Of course, with the time that took, Penny could’ve already done something that no one could take back.

So, yeah, Lydia climbed up the high school to help her. So sue her; she didn’t want anything to happen to Penny. That’s not absurd. She says as much to Stiles.

“Lydia,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how to get you to understand this, but, like, that is not how most people think. That is how you think. That is how Scott thinks.” He said the last sentence pointedly, like he knew the significance it would have on Lydia.

But Lydia misunderstood. “Stiles, I did not help Penny because I’m a banshee. This isn’t a supernatural thing, this isn’t a pack thing.” She was full of sass, and a bit angry, if she was being honest. Stiles knew her better than almost anyone, and he didn’t get that? Was he seriously using Penny’s situation to try to manipulate her back into the pack?

“Lyds, I _know_ that,” Stiles said. “And Scott doesn’t help people just because he’s a werewolf. He helps people because that’s who he is. That’s why he’s our alpha. Because we respect that and connect to that part of him."

           

“Lydia, you didn’t save Penny because you’re a banshee, you saved her because you’re _you_.” He paused, before finishing with, “Because you’re Lydia Martin.”

Lydia was not too deep in her own self-pity to admit that there might be something to Stiles’ point of view. She hadn't felt a single banshee pull when she helping Penny. It was just about two girls, not two supernatural creatures.

Except, there were just a few things Lydia’s unsure of still.

“Stiles,” she started off, “My favorite color—“

Stiles cut her off, already knowing what she was trying to say. “Lydia, I didn’t want to tell you this before, because I think it’s important for you to figure all this out by yourself,” on ‘all this’, Stiles used his right hand to gesture over Lydia’s body, like she’s got a whole lot of mess going on with her (well, he wouldn’t be wrong). “But, _god_ , Lydia, Kira’s dad’s lasagna is my favorite food too.”

He reached out for her left hand, rendering her speechless before she had the chance to respond. His long fingers traced gently over the bandages he found there as he continued, quietly, “My favorite smell is whatever perfume you’re wearing that day.”

It felt like someone shocked her with a strong electrical current, and her whole body stilled. Before she could stop herself, her eyes met his.

“Look, all I’m saying,” Stiles continued, as he went to drop her hand. But like she wasn't even in control of her body, Lydia wrapped her fingers around his, not letting him go. Stiles audibly gulped before trying to continue on casually, “is that it’s not crazy that your favorite things revolve around your friends. They’re your friends, I figure you must like them for a reason.” He smiled Lydia’s favorite smile, the innocent one that’s stronger on one side of his face than the other.

It was all clicking into place for Lydia, that maybe the pack lifestyle, Lydia running every time supernatural forces beckoned, was never forced on her at all. Maybe this was who she was all along, and she’s just lucky that she was born a banshee at all. She’d be able to help so many more people with the powers it gave her.

This was the Lydia Martin she was. The one who helped people like it’s her calling in life (maybe it was), the one who loved her friends so much that they impacted all aspects of personality.

"Lydia, the fact is that the pack needs you. You think you're not important, but you are. Have you ever tried to input archaic Latin into Google translate? It's not a smooth transition, by any means." Stiles paused for Lydia's small laugh. "You're so smart and you're so brave. If you feel like you aren't, then we're not doing a very good job as your pack."

Stiles had headed back to the high school and parked Lydia’s car in the same spot it was in earlier, next to his jeep.

"After you left the locker room, I called a pack meeting." Stiles said. Lydia's eyebrows raised infinitesimally. "We talked about how much you were giving up for the pack, and god, Lydia, we should've realized, but we didn't. We're so sorry."

Lydia shook her head vehemently. "No, Stiles. I would do anything for the pack, I shouldn't have complained about it."

"Lydia, you look out for everyone, and you shoulder way more responsibilities than anyone else. We've never thanked you for taking care of us. Thank you.

"You're amazing, but it's not right. Scott and Kira agreed to take turns checking in with you to see if you're feeling overwhelmed, or if you need a break to take care of yourself. Malia and I are going to be doing study sessions during our free period. Just because you're the most brilliant of all of us, doesn't mean you're the only one who can tutor Malia." He ended with a joking tone and a small smile, but Lydia could see in his eyes that Stiles was truly sorry. She knew he'd never believe it, but there was nothing to forgive.  

Lydia felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and once again she found herself mashing her lips together to keep out the strong feelings she was having towards this boy across from her. How could he know exactly what she needed to hear? How could one person know her this well? How did he do this to her, make her feel each night that she liked him even more than she did the night before?

Because she couldn’t talk, she did the only thing that felt right in the moment. Slowly, she reached her right hand across to place it softly on his left cheek. She felt Stiles stop breathing under her touch.

Lydia’s heart was hammering in her chest as she leaned in to place the most delicate kiss on his right cheek. She heard Stiles let out a long, wavering breath as his eyes fluttered shut. Lydia let herself savor the moment, knowing that it could never last as long as she’d like it to.

As she pulled away, Lydia thought that maybe someday soon, she could give him the kind of kiss she’d been dreaming of lately. The Lydia Martin who didn’t know who she was couldn’t have, but this Lydia Martin felt like someone who wouldn’t be afraid to. Like someone who couldn’t wait to.

“Hey Stiles,” she whispered, breaking him out of his out of his reverie and forcing him to open his eyes.

“Yeah?” he whispered back, staring at her like whatever she was about to say would surely be the most important thing he’d ever heard in his entire life.

“Do you think I could get my car back?” She smiled at him and leaned back into her own seat, knowing this wasn’t what he was expecting her to say.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and acting so overly nonchalant that Lydia could see right through it.

They both got out of Lydia’s car and met at the front bumper as Lydia crossed over to get into the driver’s seat, and Stiles made his way to jeep.

Lydia stopped him before he could get far. Grabbing his arm she said, “Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah, Lyds?” he responded, smiling at her in a way that was simply happy and not expecting anything from her.

She paused and scrunched up her lips all tiny before she found the courage to say what she’d been thinking since Stiles spoke to her in the car.

“My favorite smell is mint.”

Stiles laughed a little before warily asking, “Would it be okay if I asked you why?”

Lydia stared at the sky as she answered him. “You always give me a piece of minty gum after lunch before you take one yourself. Then we’re both just minty and…well, it reminds me of you, I guess.”

When Lydia lowered her gaze back to his, Stiles was smiling stupidly at her and Lydia thought if she stood under his gaze for another moment, she’d combust.

So she let go of him and got into her car, and he got into his.

Yes, she thought to herself. One of these days, this Lydia Martin was going to do something about the boy with the constellation of moles and the amber eyes. It was going to be easy and it was going to feel right, and Lydia's toes curled in on themselves just at the anticipation.

But for now, Lydia needed to go home and get some rest. She had friends to see tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank youuuuuuu for reading my first Stydia fic! Hope it was true to the two most beloved characters in MTV history 
> 
> Find me on tumblr! Gorgeoussimplehousecat :)


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